An Anxious Mother Fluttering Through Life

anxiety

The recent passing of celebrities Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain have opened up the conversations we need to keep having: mental illness is a real thing and while invisible, it can be debilitating and lonely. It is not enough to only talk about it when it occurs. We need to keep that conversation going, to ensure people that they are not alone.

Last year I wrote a piece on the passing of Chester Bennington, a brilliant musician who lost his battle with depression and died by suicide. Today, after hearing about the second celebrity suicide in one week, I revisited that piece. I took time to reread I was reminded why I wrote it.read more

It’s been almost a year since my last correspondence with you and yet, here we are again. It’s as if you didn’t even read the letter I sent you. So, because you seem to have ignored my previous attempt in communicating my issues with you, I continue taking that pesky little white and yellow pill each and every morning to help keep you at bay. Mind you, I still experience your aura sounding me as your presence is like a bad wallpaint job, but it’s hardly as bad as it could be.read more

There are times when I’m getting ready to go out and I becomeovercome with anxiety.

I start to wonder if I need to go out. I find myself weighing my options. I act as if the decision to leave the house is life-changing. But it’s not. And I know this.

For years, I thought the feelings I had when getting ready to go out were caused by anticipation. It wouldn’t be until years later that I realized these feelings – the nauseating and painful feelings – were actually a result of anxiety.read more

Yeah, you — I’m talking to you. You’ve interfered with my life for long enough. It’s time for you to sit down and listen to what I have to say:

Anxiety, you have got to go. You have overstayed your welcome, that is, as if you were ever welcomed in the first place. You’ve held me down. You’ve got too involved. You’ve hurt my relationships and friendships time and time again, and you are now getting too involved with my relationship with my son. You have got to go.

Years ago, when we first met, I was around 15 and I thought you were a product of my teenage hormones. Together with your good friend depression, you’ve toppled right over me and led me on this ridiculous roller coaster of emotions and mental illness for the past 20-plus years. You started out slow and then totally took over. You’ve grabbed the steering wheel to my life and I want it back for good.read more

My son attends daycare five days a week, even if I’m not working. I use the time I have at home catch up on chores, write articles, and work on the latest course I am taking.

One night, my daycare calls to cancel for the next two days for personal reasons. That’s ok, I tell her, I understand. Then the thought sinks in: what will I do with my kid for the next two days? My anxiety sets in: how are you going to entertain him for two whole days? I start running through scenarios in my mind. All day? Just me and him? Panic pulls up a chair, relaxes, and makes itself comfortable.read more

My decision to go back on medication was not taken lightly. It certainly wasn’t a decision I made overnight. It’s been a lingering thought I tried to push back for months now. I’ve exhausted all my self-help go-tos and now I’m ready to admit to myself that I need to go back on medication. This isn’t the first time, and I don’t believe it will be the last.

I’m not sure why it took so long to make this decision. I’ve been on medication before. In fact, I’ve been on and off medication for the past 20+ years. This is nothing new to me. And while I want to be able to fight my battle “on my own,” the rational part of my mind is telling me enough is enough. I need help. Take the help. I’m ready to admit I need it.read more

On my way to pick up my son from daycare, I started getting ideas for my writing projects, and of course, I’m couldn’t write those ideas down. My anxiety started to build, but hey, I’m a pro at this by now, and I could handle this. Suddenly, like a sign from the stars who wish to cut me some slack, the school bus in front of me stopped to let off some kids, and I had a quick moment to jot my ideas down on the random Post-its I have in the center consul of my car. Thank you, Mr. or Mrs. Bus Driver, for giving me a break. You managed to settle my nerves for a whole 15 very welcomed seconds.read more

As I sit at the computer thinking of how to put into words to explain how my son has an anxious mother, my anxiety rises. I think of who will read this and what will they think of me. Will they skip to the end to see how it ends? Will they empathize me? Will they pity me? Or will they think I’m unfit to be a mother if I have so much anxiety? What will they think of me? I talk myself out of it and encourage myself to keep writing because it’s OK. Because hundreds if not thousands of mothers have anxiety. read more

My husband and I grew up very differently. We’re the equivalent of night and day, yet we work well together. There’s him, the logical realist who looks for solutions and ways to improve. Then there’s me, the anxious and high strung woman who seems to look for problems rather than solutions.

My husband is a fixer. Being the fixer he is, his nature tells him to step in and fix whatever problem there is. He racks his brain for solutions and Googles how to’s. He checks out online groups to see what other people are saying. He’s always looking for the best way to help. He’s a go-getter! It’s admirable and appreciated.read more